


Punctuality

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Humor, Long-Suffering Merlin (Kingsman), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 02:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: There are two things certain if one chooses life as a Kingsman: death and Harry’s perpetual tardiness.





	Punctuality

There are two things certain if one chooses life as a Kingsman: death and Harry’s perpetual tardiness.

Merlin has known Harry Hart in a vague capacity since secondary, and he can still remember the tired refrain of “So nice you can finally join us, Mr. Hart” as Harry strolled late into class, taking his time in choosing a seat and unpacking the contents of his bookbag. Sometimes, he would wink at obviously-irritated classmates, and Merlin would mentally count down to how long Harry could push it before someone snapped at him.

This trend has continued on in Kingsman, becoming a running joke of sorts. One could point out a new staff member, who, at one point, would remark, “Is Galahad going to be arriving soon? It’s been almost thirty minutes.” No amount of meaningful reminders or subtle emails can sway Harry, and eventually, Kingsman caved into the inevitable, save for Chester.

“Do you know why Galahad is late all the time?” Chester once asked him, after a scheduled ten-minute debriefing had turned into a thirty-minute one, as Harry hadn’t been present for the first twenty minutes.

“I don’t know, sir,” Merlin had replied. “But he always has been.” 

Harry, weeks later after V-Day, arrives with a starburst scar amongst dark suits and an empty coffin—late to his own funeral, the bastard—and eventually gets settled into Arthur’s seat, in which Harry expresses his dissatisfaction with being mostly behind a desk by continuing his habit of lateness.

The first time it happened, it was as if normalcy had been returned to Kingsman: triggers were pulled, paperwork was filed, and Harry Hart was back and late again, albeit no longer as Galahad.

And the world, for a shining few weeks, was all well.

* * *

The new Galahad is different, which Merlin appreciates. Eggsy is always on time, sometimes even early, and it’s not because Merlin’s told him that a meeting is an hour earlier than it really is. If he’s running late because of an emergency with his sister or a minor mishap in London traffic, Eggsy always calls ahead. Roxy is also faithful to the schedule, and Merlin enjoys being able to cut right to the chase.

Which is why Eggsy not being present for a full fifteen minutes without so much as a text befuddles him.

The clock ticks, and Merlin sits there with Roxy, who’s absentmindedly flipping through her file for a mission in Russia. It’s supposed to be a paired one, using Eggsy’s pickpocketing and driving skills with Roxy’s knowledge of Russian and sharp-shooting, and it requires a little bit of undercover—something they need to go over with Merlin and Arthur before they accept the mission.

Merlin’s used to Harry being late, but after another five minutes passes by, he sighs. “Roxy, can you get in contact with Eggsy?”

“I’ll try,” she replies, then pulls out her phone and begins tapping at the screen, as Merlin sends Harry an alert through the glasses.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Eggsy gasps, obviously having run from the cab and right up the stairs to reach the office. “I’m here! I’m here!” He quickly sits down, apologizing, “Sorry, guv, Rox, woke up late, didn’t set my alarm—”

“At least you’re here,” Merlin interrupts, then sighs. “Now if only Arthur will follow suit. Have you seen him, by chance?”

There’s the tiniest twitch from Eggsy, who quickly straightens his spine and folds his hands on the table. “No, sir,” he quickly says.

Merlin hands him the file, watching Eggsy leaf through it, his left leg slightly jittering underneath the table. Roxy gives him a look, then returns her attention to her file once more.

Just as Merlin’s able to start the meeting anyway, Harry be damned, the man himself calmly pushes the double doors open, politely nodding to each in term. 

“Apologies,” he demurs, but offers no excuses, which Merlin expects. Harry takes his seat beside Eggsy, who distinctly stiffens again and pointedly stares down at the file in his hands.

Merlin picks up Harry’s copy of the file, wondering if Eggsy and Harry are rowing, but immediately dismisses the notion. Harry, despite his outwardly calm exterior, has just a hint of smugness in his eyes, and as he’s reaching for the folder, his hand brushes Eggsy’s exposed wrist, the fingers lingering there for a second too long. Eggsy’s ears turn a faint shade of pink, and he shifts in his chair ever so slightly.

He knows Roxy notices, too, because her eyes dart from Harry to Eggsy to Merlin, then repeat the cycle.

For a moment, no one says anything, but it’s clear something has changed. 

Merlin briefly closes his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he finally says, “please take pains to come to a meeting on time. Eggsy, you’ve been reliable of late, so I expect you to try to drill some of your habits into Harry.”

This may have been a poor choice of words because Eggsy can’t quite stop smiling throughout the entire meeting.

* * *

Things do not get better. In fact, they get worse.

By now, word has gotten around about Eggsy’s tardiness, and jokes begin to pop out all around HQ that the Galahad position is cursed—the curse of never being on time. No one has yet, as far as Merlin knows, suspected of a change in Eggsy and Harry’s relationship status, and he’s glad of it. Agents can be a perverted lot, and he really doesn’t want to hear the snickers and speculation of why Eggsy’s newfound habits are the way they are.

But Merlin does want to at least rein in Eggsy, in hopes that the young man will be able to do the same to Harry. Eggsy’s gotten Harry to stop his all-nighters at HQ and to quit drinking so much—Harry, according to every expert on the globe, is a functioning alcoholic—and if Eggsy can inspire such self-improvements, Merlin’s going to use this convenience when he can.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be going well.

Now, Merlin glances at the clock—Eggsy’s now thirty minutes late to his debriefing—and touches one of the buttons on his glasses.

But to his surprise, the communication channel is open, and when Merlin pulls up the feed from Eggsy’s glasses, he sees Harry smiling so affectionately that Merlin does a double take, only to realize that Harry’s in his robe.

_Just_ his robe.

Merlin then hears Eggsy laughing through the tiny speakers, arms reaching out to gently push Harry away. “I’m going to be late again!” he protests, hands fiddling with at his neck. Eggsy briefly glances down, revealing a crooked tie, then shakes his head, obviously giving it up for a lost cause.

“Like it’s a new occurrence,” Harry dryly replies, leaning forward to kiss him, but Eggsy playfully spins away, hand reaching for the door handle.

“To you, but not to _me_,” he chides. “Honestly, Harry, you’re a terrible influence.”

Harry smirks, crossing his arms. The opening in his robe falls further, revealing a wide expanse of bare flesh. “You wouldn’t be so late often if you didn’t keep getting worn out.”

“Oi,” Eggsy says, “I have you know that _I’m _not always the one who gets f—“

Merlin promptly shuts down the communications.

* * *

“You’ve corrupted him.” Merlin accuses.

From across the table, Harry blinks innocently. “I beg your pardon?”

“Eggsy has been an impeccable agent in terms of punctuality until _you _came along.”

Harry takes a pen from Merlin’s desk and starts twirling it absentmindedly between his fingers. “I’m certainly not enabling him. Eggsy is responsible for his own choices, and if he wishes to have a lie-in, that is up to him.”

“Not if he’s sharing a house with you,” Merlin says. “I’ve long ago given up on you, but I will not give up on Eggsy. Stop encouraging him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry replies.

Merlin opens his mouth, ready to argue, but Harry, like the bastard he is, simply walks out the door. He also takes Merlin’s pen with him.

* * *

Later, he tries to bring it up with Eggsy during a debriefing. He begins with praise for the previous mission and Eggsy’s previous record of punctuality, peppering in bullet points from the Kingsman handbook, and ending with an impassioned plea to at least get Harry moderately under control.

Eggsy only shrugs helplessly. “Harry and I are on different schedules. He seems to be ten minutes behind me, especially in the mornings.”

“Then leave without him,” Merlin suggests, quite sensibly.

Eggsy looks as if Merlin told him to shoot his dog, again. “Excuse me?” he demands.

Merlin closes his eyes and prays.

* * *

The annual, in-person performance meeting tomorrow is dreadfully early, and Merlin doesn’t hold his breath. He sets up the tea cups, the plate of biscuits and scones, brews up tea stronger than God and coffee with a possibly illegal amount of expresso shots, and lays out folders on each place mat. He hates these things, but Kingsman has always run on unnecessary meetings since World War One, and no one’s offered a suitable replacement.

One by one, agents file in. Percival is first, suit perfectly pressed and a large raspberry pastry in hand. Bors and Bedivere make an immediate beeline for the coffee, yawning beneath their hands. Roxy comes in, not looking happy but politely nodding a hello to Merlin. A few tech members, led by Amelia, stroll in with tablets and headphones, a few muttering about coffee and Adderall. The rest of the knights come in, talking about missions and tailor shop shifts and the latest football game.

Just as Merlin’s about to lose hope, the door opens. Eggsy and Harry are walking in, hand in hand, hair perfectly coifed and looking very well-rested indeed.

It’s a miracle.

The meeting proceeds without a hitch, and afterwards, Merlin pulls Eggsy aside, wondering how he actually got both of them—especially Harry—to show up on time.

Eggsy shrugs. “Well. Jamal has the same problem, and so does Mum. So what I did was set all the clocks forward. First ten, then fifteen, then thirty minutes. You might want to fix the clock here, or take it out, and yell at him occasionally for being late so he doesn’t catch on. Sound good?”

Merlin stares. After decades of threats, bribes, and begging, Eggsy’s the first to think of this deceptively simple solution. It’s enough to make him want to file his resignation, or to make Chester King roll over in his grave.

“Well,” he finally says, “how long is this supposed to work?”

Eggsy winks. “You leave that to me.” He turns to leave, then hands Merlin a familiar-looking pen. “By the way, Harry wanted to give you this.”

Merlin stares at the pen, then at Eggsy, who cheerfully waves before closing the door behind him, and sighs. Hopefully, this symbolizes a new era of teamwork, prosperity, and punctuality. 

But he still bets a hundred pounds Harry will be late to his own wedding. 


End file.
